


I Started Looking for a Warning Sign

by freezerjerky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Red Pants, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezerjerky/pseuds/freezerjerky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boring is not something to say in the bedroom.</p><p>For the johnlockchallenges gift exchange for August and the lovely reapersun who wanted anything with the legendary red pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Started Looking for a Warning Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so here's the part where I go on a bit unnecessarily before the good bits. First of all, I'm going to turn into a fangirl and basically freak out because [reapersun](http://www.reapersun.tumblr.com) is one of the most talented artists in the fandom, without a doubt. But more than that, it was her art, and my avid appreciation that made me want to write fic for this fandom in the first place. So thank you, truly.
> 
> Non-Beta'd or Brit-picked and such.

 The words have become almost like a script, he had become completely accustomed to them, with the occasional surprise. They’re all lovely things, sexy things, positive things, until the night came when the worst possible word makes its way into their love-making.

“Ah, finally something not boring,” Sherlock half-moaned and the look on his face was the only thing to keep John from pulling out right there.

When they do finish, they go through the normal routine; Sherlock slapping on a nicotine patch while John went to fetch a flannel from the bathroom, Sherlock lazing about in bed and John muttering to himself as he cleaned them both up, then tossing away the condom and stashing away the lube.

John didn’t even speak until he climbed into bed, having slipped on his pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt.

“You said you were bored,” he stated, “in the middle of sex.”

“Sex is, by nature, repetitive, John. It’s not new patterns of stimulations.”

“New doesn’t mean interesting and overly familiar doesn’t mean boring.”

“It does to me. I need constant movement in my mind, or else things go terrible.”

“Right.”

He turned over in bed, flicking out the light.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t, you were being honest which is, it’s fine, really. I get it. I think- I think I’m going to stay at Harry’s for a bit.”

“Why would you do that? You don’t even like your sister.”

“I need space.”

“Fine,” Sherlock replied. “Space it is, then.”

 

The next morning, John packed up a suitcase and left. Sherlock thought nothing of it, until he just gave a polite goodbye, leaving the flat without so much as a small kiss. Part of him wanted to pull out his phone, text John and demand him to come back, but that was the part he liked to hide away: the part that was all John’s fault to begin with. Instead, he began texting every few days, acting as if John never left.

_Stop at Boots. Need painkillers. SH_

_Actually, need milk too. Just go to Tesco. SH_

_Still could use some paracetamol while you’re out. SH_

_Lestrade has a case. Medical expertise needed. SH_

_Where do you keep the tea bags? SH_

_Haven’t had a chocolate digestive in ages. SH_

Of course, he realized what John was pulling, what he was up to. He may have never been in a relationship before, but he knew the signs when one was done, over, completed. When it meant that John walking out of the flat was a possibly forever thing. He couldn’t, he would not, however, let go, no matter what. John would come back and they would resume as they were; comfortable, happy even. Now John was just gone, and he didn’t even know why, which should have bothered him more than it did, because the why wasn’t helping if John wasn’t even communicating with him, if there was no fix.

It took about two weeks for John to even come back to the flat. He entered silently, simply unlocking the door and going to the bedroom, proceeding to start to pack his things. It was a few minutes before Sherlock even noticed, which is a feat in itself, but as soon as he saw John’s shoes by the wall, he bolted to the bedroom, calling out for the other man.

“Don’t mind me,” John said, not even peering up from packing away several jumpers. “I’m just getting my stuff out of here.”

“Where are you going?” Sherlock asked, moving closer.

“Harry found me a decent flat not far from here, should be able to afford it on my own.”

“Why? You already have this one.”

“Clearly I’m moving out.”

“You haven’t given a reason for not wanting to be here.” The _with me_ that should have been in the sentence hung heavy in the air.

“Because you’re bored, you made that clear.”

“Bo-oh, no John, that was just referring to the sex, not you.”

John made a small noise but continued to pack; making the best effort he could to ignore Sherlock. Not easily dissuaded, Sherlock sat on the bed beside him, watching him and finding some comfort in John just being there, even if it was the last time.

“You don’t have to go.”

“And do what? Stay here until you are bored of more than just the sex, which by the way is not a good thing either.”

“You’ll never be boring to me.”

It should have come out as a confession, as a deep dark secret, but the way he said it, it sounded like absolute truth. John turned around, looking at him for the first time in what felt like ages.

“Don’t leave me over sex, that’s ridiculous, John.”

“I’m not leaving you over sex.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, looking at him in earnest. “Because you’re accusing me of being bored, but you’re the one who didn’t even bother to text for two weeks and is now packing up everything they own. If you found a woman, I’d understand, John, you could tell me.”

“Christ, Sherlock, if I found a wo- there’s no one else. At all. And I often seriously doubt there ever could be now.”

“Then you don’t love me anymore, is that it? Because I don’t need that word being thrown around, I’m still not comfortable saying it.”

“Didn’t you just bloody hear what I said?”

“Then stay, or else I’ll go mad.”

John rose slowly to his feet, brushing his trousers off. His eyes darted to Sherlock for a moment before he moved to the door, but Sherlock caught his wrist in time, pulling John towards him. He stood, pulling John as close as possible and kissing him deeply, lifting him ever so slightly off the ground.

“There is,” he muttered against John’s mouth, “not a single reason in your ever so important solar system for you to leave.”

“Every day I have you, it’s harder to breathe without you, and it’s best to sever it soon.”

“Or never. I’m personally fond of never.”

“Yeah, never works.”

It was then that John initiated a kiss, this one deeper than the first, a near bruising kiss, an attempt for them to drink each other in, to breathe each other’s air. John was biting at Sherlock’s lower lip when Sherlock started to slide his hand up John’s jumper, running his long fingers along John’s stomach. At this, John pulled away from the kiss.

“I need you now, soon, whatever. Two weeks is too long,” he breathed into his ear. “Please.”

Sherlock offered no reply, but simply pulled John’s jumper over his head. It was only moments after that when he began to fumble with John’s belt, unbuckling it and pulling his trousers down.

“Oh.”

“What?” John asked, suddenly worried.

“What happened to the boxer briefs?” Sherlock was grinning.

“I can be not boring,” he mumbled, kicking off his trousers and socks before climbing onto the bed. “Now get naked and get up here.”

“You’re wearing a rather small pair of red pants, John, I’m taking a moment to make sure this never gets deleted.”

He stared at him, taking every line of John in that he could manage, stopping to gape at the pants every few seconds. Even as he began to strip he continued to stare, watching as a blush crept over John’s body, part arousal, part embarrassment. Sherlock climbed onto the bed beside him, kissing him softly.

“You don’t like them, do you?” John asked, frowning.

“I love them, actually. They’re distinctive, sexy yet practical. They’re _you._ ”

He ran his hand down John’s stomach, slowly trailing his fingers lower and lower before reaching the pants, sliding his hands over them and cupping John’s cock through the thin fabric. John rocked upwards slightly, craving more.

“Patience, John, I’m enjoying this.”

Sherlock continued rubbing, starting to rut slightly against John’s leg.

“I’m being patient enough.”

“Do you have more of these, John? Because I think I’d like to buy you every pair in London.”

“They were on sale, I bought about three weeks’ worth.”

“Perfect.”

“Yes, perfect that I don’t have to wear them every day now.”

“Well, maybe not _every_ day, John.”

“If you don’t get them off of me soon, I’m going to burn every pair in England.”

“Doubtful. And I’ll just have some imported from elsewhere.”

He started kissing along John’s neck, nipping at intervals. His hand trailed to the waistband of John’s pants, plucking very lightly at it. Slowly, the hand slid under, resting on John’s’ hip.

“Please, Sherlock,” he nearly begged. “I said now, I was afraid I’d lost this.”

“Lost what?”

“We just talked about this. You. I thought I lost you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I was scared I did.”

“But the truth stands that you didn’t. It doesn’t take a genius to see that.”

John nodded, pulling him in for a kiss.

 “John Watson, I’m not lost to you. Personally, I think I’d be an idiot to ever let you go, seeing as how you’re willing to wear very tight red pants for my benefit and don’t try to say otherwise. You bought these because you knew I’d find them intriguing, even if you weren’t sure you’d ever be with me again. You care that much.”

  “Of course I do, I that-word-that-makes-your-skin-crawl you.”

“Same.”

As he said this, he finally pulled down John’s pants, sliding his hand over to give John’s cock a few firm pulls. He couldn’t stop watching John’s reactions, taking in everything as if he’d forgotten in two weeks. It all came back to him, the memory of just how beautiful it was watching him. He reached over to his nightstand, grabbing the lube that had been lying in the drawer since their last encounter. He spread it on his fingers, warming it before tracing along John’s entrance. He recorded each flash on John’s face, each shift of sensation and emotion as he pushed the first finger in.

“Please keep the teasing to a minimum, Sherlock.”

“Oh, but you know I love to tease.”

John pulled him down for a kiss, groaning into his mouth as he rocked down onto the finger. Sherlock continued to work it in and out before adding a second, a third, even a teasing fourth, still processing and recording everything he could manage outside of his own pleasure. By the time he had trailed his lips down, kissing along John’s scar, the man beneath him was rocking down nearly constantly, desperate for something more. Sherlock smirked as he sat up, pulling his fingers out.

“Roll over, John.”

“What?”

“You heard me, roll over.”

With a sigh, he flipped over onto his stomach, resting his head in his arms. Sherlock started to kiss along the back of his shoulders, trailing down to the small of his back. He cupped an arse cheek appreciatively, giving it a squeeze before moving on to the next. After scrambling around to find John’s pants, he wrapped them around his cock, spreading John’s cheeks and beginning to rut against him.

“Fuck, Sherlock, I said no teas-“

At this point, Sherlock thrust his cockhead into John, pulling out and pushing back in a few times.

“You were saying?”

“You fucking bastard.”

“Back around, if you please, John.”

John grumbled, turning back onto his back. Sherlock smirked over him, moving to slide down his body, he nosed around his groin for a few moments before licking a strip up his cock. He maneuvered John so that his feet were flat on the bed, which he knew John liked despite the protests of ‘excessive manhandling’. Without warning, he licked along the cockhead, taking it into his mouth and sucking back before licking back down. He peered up at John with a devilish grin as he continued nearly kissing the sensitive skin, pushing John’s legs up as he mouthed around his entrance. The sounds John made were worth everything, all of the sex, boring or not, the effort he had to put in when he’d often rather be ravished. No, he realized. This was entirely worth it, making this man happy, giving him pleasure for all the grief he gave him in their daily life.

“Please, Sherlock,” John’s voice broke out finally. “I’m not going anywhere anymore, just bloody fuck me already.”

“Alright, alright. Always so insistent,” Sherlock said this with a grin as he sat up, reaching into the drawer for a condom and preparing himself. “In my lap.”

“You’re so bossy,” John muttered, though he obeyed, moving up onto Sherlock’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.

John gave a small smile before moving in to kiss him, picking himself up so they could work in tandem, and move into position. Sherlock slid into him easily, but John remained seated for a few moments to adjust, to marvel, and to take base enjoyment in the sensation of being connected. He suddenly started to move, rocking up and down and gripping tightly onto Sherlock. They continued like this for some time, the only sound in the room their breathy moans or an occasionally utterance of names, endearments, promises to never, ever leave. Eventually, John let out a small gasp, demanding “more.”

Sherlock grinned at this, because there was a tried and true way of giving John what he wanted, and it definitely was _not_ boring. John being here, John being happy was never boring. He pressed John down onto the bed, helping him wrap his legs around his waist as he continued to thrust, picking up the pace. Once they’d established a new rhythm, he wrapped his hand around John’s cock, working it in rhythm with his own thrusts. After a few thrusts, with a snap of Sherlock’s hips, John came, shouting out and clutching Sherlock’s back. This sent the other over the edge, giving a low moan as he hit his release.

They lay together, panting for a few moments before Sherlock pulled out. He stood, tying off the condom and throwing it into the rubbish bin before heading for a flannel. Usually John did this, regardless of what they did, but it seemed appropriate for him to make this effort for once. He came back, laying back down beside John as he cleaned him off, peppering his shoulder with kisses as he did so.

“I’m assuming you’re staying, then?” he asked at length, after he had finished and settled down in the bed.

“I wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t staying, and I don’t know how I could go now.”

“Good, good.” Sherlock gave him a small smile before pausing for a moment. “And the red pants, are they staying too?”

**Author's Note:**

> I would also like to give a bonus shout-out to my lovely friends [Allie](mycroftson.tumblr.com) and [Momo](momotastic27.tumblr.com) for their help in this process.
> 
> Title from "Warning Sign" by Coldplay 
> 
> Expect more fic soon and kick my ass into writing it either by yelling or giving me prompts at my Tumblr.


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